


That Was Then.../Fuori Dal Mondo - Part 1

by ana



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Presents, Childhood, Death, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-12
Updated: 2012-08-12
Packaged: 2017-11-15 02:52:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ana/pseuds/ana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I've always imagined that Gregor must have had a few episodes likes this :( </p><p>...Has no CVA spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Was Then.../Fuori Dal Mondo - Part 1

_"Where is my head?”_

_“I don’t know, papa,” Ivan said. “I’ve looked everywhere.”_

_“Shhh,” he whispered.  “You’ve missed it because you’ve forgotten what I look like.  Where’s Miles, he’ll find it.  He’s a smart boy.”_

_“No, I’ll find it, papa.  I can find it! Don’t get Miles.”  Ivan crawled through the blood, passed the dead bodies, careful not to make a noise and checked that his papa’s head hadn’t gone on the wrong body._

_“Is it this one?”  His Aunt Cordelia asked standing in the middle of the corpses, holding a head in her hand and swinging it by the hair around her head._

_“No,” Ivan whispered. “He’s going to be sick if you keep doing that.”_

_“Vors don’t get sick!”_

_His father pointed to the stool.   “Sit down.”_

_There was a camp stool.  His legs were aching.  “I don’t want to sit down.”_

_“You’re tired; sit down.”_

_His headless father held an axe to Gregor’s throat.  Gregor was gesturing to the stool and whispering, “So many, so many,” over and over again. “It’s alright, sit down.  Shh, it’s the wrong one.”_

_“I don’t want to sit down,” Ivan whispered back, wiping the blood from his face and his arms and wiping them again as the blood kept coming back._

_“Then you’ll stay here with me.”_

_Ivan looked up at the huge metal block being hammered into place, shutting out the light and he pushed away all the headless dead that kept trying to get his head.  “What are they doing up there?”_

_“They’re fitting your plaque,” his father whispered.  “But first, I have to take your head,” His father swung the axe, everything went black and Ivan woke up screaming._

 

Two Weeks Earlier

Gregor’s nightmares had come back, but these were worse than any he had had before.  And it all started with the servant Karl. 

Karl was crying.  He apologised and Gregor had been polite and told him it was alright and Karl had cried even more.  Karl was rambling, he was sorry, his son had been caught in one of the many crossfires during the Pretendership, and he had been killed.  His son had only been fourteen.  Gregor had been taught how to issue sympathetic platitudes – he had done so during the many memorial services he had to attend, but this was different.  He could taste this grief. 

“I know his sacrifice was worth it,” Karl had said earnestly, even in grief, knowing his place and not coming too close, the Armsmen eyeing him warily as Gregor waved them to stay where they were.  “I know you will make it right.”  And the look he had given him was now scorched in Gregor’s eyes; the tears, the grief and the dead son that Karl had laid at his feet.

It’s not as if he hadn’t heard them; the war stories.  He'd grown up hearing them, but they were just stories.  Even if you know the dead.  His mother and father had died in war, but others had lost whole families.  People would reel of the names, some of them like a badge of honour, a one-upmanship of who had suffered more losses.  My pain is worth more than your pain.  But they were just other peoples’ stories.  Other people.  Now they weren’t.

So Gregor had to hunt them out.  He had to see them.  He went into the archives and now his head was flooded with death and blood.  He tried not to sleep, but it didn’t matter.  The dead were at his feet, walking at his side, asleep in his bed. 

Lady Vorkosigan reminded him that Ivan was on his way.  Miles was having treatment and would be late.  She asked him again if he was alright.  He said he was.  _If I was dead would it be Ivan here now?  Miles? Would Karl lay his grief at Ivan’s feet?_   But Ivan and Miles were children.  No, there were no children.  That’s what he’d been told by some; to be wary even of Ivan, which had made him laugh. Wide-eyed, bewildered Ivan was nothing but a large, and sometimes clumsy child.  But then hadn’t Gregor been a child during the Pretendership. And hadn’t they died for him?      

***

“Happy Birthday,” Gregor said.  “Your present’s over there, but don’t open it here.  You can take it home.” 

It looked small to Ivan, but that was good.  He was hoping it was a new game.  “Thanks.  Where’s Miles?”

“He’ll be here later.  I got my own comconsole. Look at this.”

Ivan walked over eagerly.  “Is it a new game? - _urgh!_   They – they look –“

“Dead.  Yes.” Gregor had an odd look on his face.   “They’re real too.  They’re from the archives - from the Pretendership.  That’s a plasma burn.  There’s lots of those.  What’s wrong?”

“Nothing…um…can’t we look at something else?  Haven’t you got any games?”

Gregor frowned.  “Not scared are you?  I’m not.  Not at all.”  Should he be scared?  They were dead but dead like Karl’s son.  Being wept over...not to be feared, what good would fear do?  After all, he wasn’t scared of his mother.

“I’m not scared, either,” Ivan lied.  “I’ve seen dead portraits before - lots and lots of them!”

“So have I,” Gregor said, more than he wished to see, but he couldn’t stop.  He _had_ to see them all.  “But the dead aren’t always in the portraits.  Sometimes I - never mind.  You do know what happened during the Pretendership?” he asked Ivan.

“Um…yeah.  I thought you said Miles is coming.” 

“The Pretendership happened because of that - turn around, do you see what I’m pointing at?”

“It’s a camp stool…”

“Yeah.”  Gregor stared at it now; remembering his nightmares, remembering one of the stories he kept seeing.  “They were going to kill you to stop you sitting on that stool – before you were born.   I heard the olds talking about what happened to your mama – I s’pose she told you all about it anyway.”

“Um -”

“Tried to kill me, tried to kill you…Do you want to sit on the stool?” he asked curiously.

“No!”

“It’s not the real one.  If you sat on it nothing would happen.  Unless you killed me.   People talk about that too…You wouldn’t though, would you?  Not right now, anyway,” he said matter of factly.  He was sure about that, he wasn’t sure why.  Maybe it was the same kind of faith that Karl had in him. Did all those dead have that faith?

“I wouldn’t ever,” Ivan was saying, his voice pitching higher.  “I – I think I should go see when Miles is coming.  Maybe he’s in another room?  We should check -”

Gregor flicked through the portraits.  “People were killed to keep me on that camp stool and to keep me off it.  And this is what they looked like.  All these dead people in these portraits.  There’s so many of them, so many…”

Ivan swallowed. His stomach felt funny.  Gregor wasn’t listening to him and he was talking to the comconsole, to the horrible dead people he kept looking at.  Ivan wondered if he’d gone crazy like that man in the Caravanserai who kept asking everyone if they’d seen his daughter, but she’d died years ago and mama said you had to pity people like that and – _what if Gregor’s gone crazy?_   Ivan edged towards the door.  “I think I should go home.  I don’t think Miles is coming.  I want to go home. I-”

“Yuri’s Massacre, the Pretendership.  This is how our families end up, like your da - do you see these?  These are real people.  It wasn’t just my parents or your da.  But your da wouldn’t have looked like these men - he didn’t die by plasma arc, did he?  And I don’t think he was beheaded like these men, either.  I wonder if they used axes or -”

Gregor heard a loud noise and turned to see Ivan retching then vomiting.  It brought him out of his bloody reverie, but not as sharply as the look Lady Vorkosigan gave him when she’d knocked and entered.  She looked at Ivan and saw the headless corpse on the comconsole, and as she went over to Ivan she calmly asked Gregor to turn that damn thing off.

***

Ivan had gone home leaving Gregor shaken and mortified.  The look on Ivan’s face still filled his vision.  “I didn’t mean to-“

“I know, but you’ll have to make it up to Ivan yourself.  As big as that boy’s grown he’s still a child.  And you scared him…” And Lady Vorkosigan gave him that shrewd look.  “But I don’t think as much as you scared yourself. Tell me.  You know you can tell me.  And none of this Vor stiff upper lip crap.”

And with a half laugh and a sob that came out of nowhere, Gregor told her about Karl. 

Cordelia was part relieved that the day she had come to dread had finally happened, she always knew it would.  Fine.  They would now work together on shifting the weight of the dead that Gregor had decided lay completely on his own shoulders. 

She wasn’t worried about Ivan, he had Alys, and he wasn’t one to hold grudges.  He’d been as embarrassed as he was scared, but he looked up to Gregor and Gregor knew it too.  It was up to Gregor now to fix it, and she had complete faith in him that he’d do it competently.

***   

Ivan was surprised when Gregor came to his home two weeks later.  He knocked and came straight into his bedroom, so Ivan didn’t have a chance to hide anything.

Well, no, it wasn’t Gregor that had knocked first; it was the ImpSec officer doing his security check.  Ivan wondered if the scans would pick up the chocolate bars and madeleines he’d hidden and if the officer would snitch and tell his mother.  Ivan tried hard not to stare at the things in his room that he wanted to hide away, and he hoped he’d get the chance to get rid of them before Gregor arrived, but Gregor came in as soon as the officer left.

“Hi.”

Ivan said hi back.  Gregor didn’t look as crazy as he looked last time.

“I’ve not been here before,” Gregor said and handed Ivan a wrapped package.  “It’s for your birthday.  I never gave you anything.”

Ivan noticed the wrapping was different than the one he’d left behind that day.  There wasn’t anything about that day he could forget.  Couldn’t forget that image of the headless corpse on Gregor’s comconsole; couldn’t forget Aunt Cordelia seeing him being sick.  Aunt Cordelia - who knew all about headless corpses.  Ivan bet she didn't vomit when they'd severed Vordarian’s head and she wasn’t even Barrayaran!  He was Barrayaran and he'd vomited over a portrait!  He felt the shame wash over him again.

He took the package with polite thanks, put it aside and waited for Gregor to go but he still stood there.

Gregor noticed Ivan though wasn’t talking, or opening his present, so he paced a little and looked around the bedroom, which was very neat – neater than his rooms anyway.  “So what are you up to this weekend?” Gregor asked him, ignoring the fact he was speaking to a young boy.

Ivan looked glum.  “My tutor’s coming later.”

“At the weekend?”  Gregor frowned and pointed to the flimsy on the noticeboard.  “But your grades look great.”

Ivan suddenly ripped the flimsy off the board and shoved it in a drawer.  “They’re Miles’s grades,” he muttered.  “Mama said it might - that they –“

 _Good God._   “If you’re not going to open the present, I’ll have to ruin the surprise and tell you what’s in it,” Gregor said, desperate to get things back on track.  “Grandmother Naismith sent it especially.  It’s a games console and it has over five hundred new games on it.”

Gregor had finally got Ivan’s attention and he nailed it when he added:  “Even Miles doesn’t have it.”

Ivan’s eyes widened.  “And it’s mine?”

Gregor grinned and Ivan matched it, as Gregor nodded.  “Course, no doubt Miles will get one after your Uncle’s stopped punishing him for trying to fiddle the House Security vids, but you’ll have played most of them by then.”

Ivan had a great time that afternoon, even more so since his mother had postponed the tutor to the next evening.   Gregor played some games with him and he didn’t mention anything about headless bodies or any of that other stuff.   It was fun and he had Gregor to himself. 

Before Gregor left he asked Ivan what he wanted to be when he was older.  Ivan looked at the portrait of his father and it was out of his mouth before he realised.  “I don’t want to be dead like that.”

Gregor was startled by how _old_ Ivan sounded and then Ivan added:  “And to go to the Academy.”

“Me too,” Gregor said and when he left it was with the feeling that they were friends again, that things were alright, that Ivan had probably forgotten the whole incident.

***

Ivan put back Miles’s grades on the noticeboard.  He was only allowed to take them down if he had guests or if his grades improved after the sudden dip again. His mother was threatening to have him pulled off the swim team if his grades didn’t improve.  She didn’t care that he was better at Miles in sport (except horse riding) and art.  No one cared about that.  But looking at Miles’s grades just made Ivan feel ill in his stomach; like the nightmares that messed up his sleep.

His mother still had no idea about them.  All the rooms were soundproofed (as well as weapon proofed) so Ivan was safe from any questions.  Besides, he was Vor, and Miles never talked about having anything as embarrassing and cowardly as nightmares and neither did Gregor.  His mother was always telling him he had to be as brave and as strong as Miles, and he was!  He wouldn’t tell anyone about those dreams, especially a Vorkosigan.

Ivan looked at the portrait of his dead papa that he’d asked his mother for; Padma Vorpatril in dress greens looking uncomfortable. He tried many a time to fix his father’s face in his memory hoping that when he went to sleep he would recall it enough to find his father’s head, and the nightmares would go away.   But they didn’t.

So then he tried something else.  Every night he would tell his father the truth about his death; the facts of how he had died and that no one had taken his head.  He told his father’s portrait this over and over and over.

And it made no difference. In his nightmares his father was always headless; always insisting on Miles helping to find his head, Aunt Cordelia was always swinging Vordarian’s head, and the blood was always sticky and everywhere and at the end of it, just before he woke up, his father would swing his axe, as they hammered the plaque over his head. Into darkness.

***

Ivan awoke to muffled screams – his own.  He felt that sick wash of shame again as he hit the lights, checked his head and made sure there was no blood on him.  Not wanting to go back to sleep he took out the games console Gregor had bought him, and played a new game...until the speaker light went on beside his bed. “Lights out, young man. I hope you’re not playing on that console.”

Ivan hit the panel to answer: “No, mama.”

“You’re not lying to me are you, Ivan?”

“Yes, mama.”

She laughed.  “Goodnight, son.” 

“Goodnight, mama.”

**Author's Note:**

> *Thank you so much to Kay and Avantika whose beta read made me thankfully rewrite the whole thing. (I experimented with a technique, which just didn't work - not for Gregor anyway.) This version I hope is a lot better.
> 
>    
> *Part 2 is done BUT HAS CVA SPOILERS!! sorry: [Part 2](http://archiveofourown.org/works/522353)
> 
> \- I was listening to a lot of Einaudi while I was writing this:  
> [Ludovico Einaudi Fuori dal mondo](http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=AFGm62CYtpY)


End file.
